Full Moon
by Red Roses1000
Summary: The year is 2020. Chicago high school students are going on a field trip to a mysterious island off the coast of California, but when they arrive at the resort, what happens when an old myth turns out to be more like a game? [DISCONTINUED - see bio]
1. prologue

_living life in the city_

_it will never be pretty_

_we can plan if we make it_

_we won't let 'em, they won't take it from me_

* * *

**prologue**

* * *

Ananke Island is a tiny island that sits right off the coast of California, beautiful but small, too small to even be seen on most maps. For the few who had heard of it before, it is known mostly for its luxurious resort, with a grand view that overlooks the Pacific and architecture that is said to rival even the Ancient Greeks. If this is true, not many can vouch for it; it is not a very popular vacation destination, despite what its beauty may lead one to believe. There are not many pictures of Ananke that can be found on the internet, and if someone is lucky to come across one, it is often the same image used again and again. Strangely, no one has thought of this fact as peculiar.

Of course, it has its accidents, as every tourist destination does—an unusual amount of accidents, given its baffling unpopularity. A couple decades back, several tourists' belongings were said to have vanished, as if into thin air. Another year, part of the resort was flooded, but everything seemed fine, when backup arrived a couple hours later. _A miracle_, the resort owners claimed, _it was a miracle._ The headline didn't even last on the news for more than a couple of days. Nobody thought to wonder beyond their definition of a miracle. Nobody thought.

Still, over the years, Ananke Island has remained fairly under the radar. No strange events have occurred there as of recent, but a tourist running a travel blog had once vaguely mentioned in a post—now deleted—that there seemed to be some kind of unsettling aura surrounding the island. As most things are nowadays, this was not questioned.

* * *

**julia connolly (28)**

* * *

"This is the last I'll be seeing of the city for awhile," Julia said wistfully to her boyfriend, wiping her hands off on her jeans. Her suitcase, now packed, laid on the carpet right next to her bed, so when she woke up in the morning, it would be easy to just grab and go. Matt slipped an arm around her waist and grinned, pulling her closer to him. Julia pretended to roll her eyes, but she was biting back a grin of her own as she hid her face in his shoulder. "I'm going to miss you when I'm on this trip, you know."

"Are you kidding me?" Matt laughed, releasing her. The city lights that slipped through their apartment window illuminated his face, casting them both in a dim afterglow. Just for a moment, the golden flecks in his eyes looked like stars. "Chicago to some beautiful island in California. Feel free to forget about home as much as you want."

She groaned. "It's for a field trip, you know. I have to supervise my students."

"It's still a vacation, though."

"Well, it won't be very relaxing," Julia deadpanned, and he just laughed again, kissing her on the forehead before bidding her goodnight. Julia couldn't help the tiny, infectious smile that threatened to spread across her face as Matt shut the door behind him, as if she was a teenager again, a young girl with a crush. It had been five years since they'd met for the first time—two since she'd moved in—but most people needed an anchor in life, something to focus on when they want to block the world out. For her, that anchor was him. "Maybe you should just book an airplane ticket now," she called through the door a couple seconds later, half-meaning it.

"Maybe I should," Matt called back, but his voice was lilting, teasing, and hers wasn't. Quietly, Julia looked at her suitcase on the carpet and sighed. She would just have to accept the fact that she was going by herself, after all—herself, that was, and twenty four high school students.

Later on, Julia hitched the bedsheets higher up around her shoulders and rolled over to face the window. Chicago was laid out underneath the apartment like a map, with its streets that college students tended to stumble down from whatever bar they were in on nights like these and traffic lights that flickered from red to green in the dark, almost like neon stars. It was funny, the fact that she had wanted so badly to move here when she was younger. It was a city. It was close to her parents. Now, it was just Chicago, the place she lived; it was the place where she struggled to pay her half of the rent, even though Matt swore up and down that it was okay, the place where the students were incredibly rowdy and she was just that new teacher. "You know," she whispered softly into the darkness, not turning around to check if Matt was still awake behind her, "at least Ananke will have stars at night."

Matt stirred a little, only half awake. "You're right," he mumbled, mostly into his pillow, but he was already drifting off, she could tell.

"I don't know. I just have a weird feeling about this trip."

He yawned. "Flight jitters?"

"Not really," Julia said, thinking aloud. "It's just…" But then Matt let out a soft snore, and she had to stop talking to herself, because he had fallen asleep.

It seemed like the entire city had practically fallen asleep already, or at least had crawled under their covers to get ready for bed. The traffic light closest to the building outside switched from green to red, and it was strange, Julia thought, that she was dreading this trip so much, when usually, she wanted nothing more than to catch a break. "You'll be fine," she murmured to herself, just because she had to hear it out loud, even if it was her own voice. Still, an unsettling feeling had tied itself into a knot in the pit of her stomach, and she could not shake the feeling that something was about to happen, not even when she fell asleep, the field trip and her students on her mind. _I'm probably overreacting._

That night, Julia dreamed of a flood.

* * *

**A/N: Welcome to this new SYOT! As you could tell by the story, this is going to be a modern Hunger Games, taking place in America and not Panem. The year is 2020. Submission forms and rules will be on my profile, so I hope you can submit! Updates will definitely not be super fast but I'll try to be consistent. Of course, school and sports have to come first.**

**I can't wait to see what everyone comes up with!**

**(The song lyrics at the top are by The Lumineers. They are not mine.)**


	2. introductory chapter i

_filming helicopters crashing in the ocean from way above_

_got the music in you, baby, tell me why?_

_you've been locked in here forever_

_and you just can't say goodbye_

* * *

**A/N: All of the introductory chapters will take place approximately two weeks prior to the start of the trip.**

* * *

**miles byrne (17)**

* * *

The water paved a way for Miles as he paddled furiously, arms slicing through the air and propelling himself forward. The _slap-slap _of his kicks echoed off the walls, reaching his ears in the exact beat of his pounding heart. He had the pool to himself, just as he did before class every morning—at six in the morning, people in his little corner of Chicago didn't care nearly enough to get up early and train. Or, as he always thought, maybe they just weren't looking for an excuse to get out of the house, like he always was.

All was quiet as he finally climbed out of the pool, soaking wet, swim trunks dripping all over the tile. The gentle hum from the fluorescent lights overhead was the only sound that could be heard. Miles grabbed his towel and leaned against the wall to towel off his hair. _Not bad swimming today, _he reflected_. _Judging from the clock on his phone, he only had a few minutes before he had to start getting ready for school, which meant that he had to get a move on. Not that he was necessarily excited for it—he didn't hate classes, not any more than the next person, anyway—but if it were up to him, he would swim all day. Sinead had told him once that she was certain he had all water in his brain, nothing else. He had told her she was spending too much time reading books, and then she'd told him to shut up, which he did.

The door to the boys locker room swung open just as he was entering. "Byrne," a loud, familiar voice boomed, and he knew who it was, before he even looked up—Coach Leon, the coach of the swim team. A burly middle-aged man, well over six feet, his coach had a couple inches on everyone, even on him, who was close to six feet himself. Miles had to crane his neck up just to look him in the eye. "You're always at the pool, aren't you?"

"Some people would say so, sir."

Leon laughed, shaking his head. "Dedication," he said, almost fondly, as if remembering a time from his own childhood. "That's why I like you, Byrne. You're a good kid, a serious competitor. You know how winners are made."

A tiny grin threatened to spread across Miles' face, but he stifled it down before it could. It was rare when Leon gave a lot of praise, even to his best swimmers, but he tried not to let his satisfaction show. "Just getting ready for the meet this weekend," he said.

"That's what I like to hear." Leon seemed pleased. He moved out of the doorway to let him through, and Miles slung his towel over his shoulder, but Leon called his name again, just before he could go. "Hey, Byrne, those nationals are coming up pretty soon, if you're interested."

"I'll think about it," Miles answered quickly, his standard response for any question that he had to mull over in his mind. Leon just raised his eyebrows—they've had this conversation before, and he gave him the same response every time—but he didn't say anything, just let him go without question. After all, Miles was a junior now, and he'd been on the swim team since he was a freshman—of all people, Leon knew that it took awhile for Miles to make up his mind about most things, or, rather, practically everything.

The school day passed by slowly, which wasn't a surprise. Miles sat in the back of the classroom with his earbuds in and fiddled with his pencil when he was supposed to be taking notes, itching to get back into the water. He knew he wouldn't be able to, though—his mom was starting to get on his case about applying himself to his studies more, instead of just breezing through with common sense and a good memory. She'd also told him that him and Sinead were in charge of taking care of Corey and Cecelia tonight while she graded papers, so there went his plans to train again this afternoon.

"You swim too much," Jason, his lab partner, said, when he told him his predicament.

Miles shrugged. "I like it," was all he said in response, and Jason couldn't argue with that.

When school finally ended, he couldn't be more ready for it. He ran the three miles back home, the same distance he'd run to the school in the morning, backpack flapping against his back, fraying Converses slapping on the sidewalk in a steady cadence. Outside the house, Sinead was already there, having taken the bus. She was kicking around a soccer ball, looking particularly focused, only stopping to look up at him when he crossed the lawn to get to the front door.

"Didn't get here as fast as you did yesterday," she teased by way of greeting, hands on her hips. Sinead punted the ball in his direction, and Miles wasn't fast enough to move out of the way before it slammed into his shoulder, almost sending him spiraling to the ground. He frowned, kicking it back to her, but she just smirked. Soccer was her forte, but it definitely wasn't his.

"Just by a few seconds," Miles said, after a moment. "I had more homework today."

"Lighten up, Mi. You're so serious sometimes." Sinead finally tucked the soccer ball under her arm and followed him into the house, undoing her ponytail as she went. A spill of long red hair cascaded down her back, and she flung the ball into the living room as they passed it, not waiting to see where it would land. Judging by the loud bang and then a yelp, Miles could only guess that it came close to hitting one of their younger siblings.

They hung out in the kitchen. Sinead sat in one of the run-down stools while he rummaged around in the pantry, looking for food. He only came up with a loaf of bread and some Nutella, but that would just have to do. Miles was the middle child, Sinead being older than him by a year, but he was always the one making the snacks for everyone. After all, if he didn't, no one else would remember to. "Coach Leon keeps asking me to swim at nationals," he told her after a while, handing her the Nutella sandwich he just made. Sinead mumbled out a quick _thank you_ before diving in, finishing it before he could even make another.

She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand when she was done, leaning forward in her stool, interest piqued. "So why don't you?"

"Don't know if I want that," he said with a shrug. "I've never swam at nationals."

Sinead raised her eyebrows. "You don't know if you want this, don't know if you want that—"

"Lay off. I was just telling you."

"Miles!" came a high voice from the other room, and little Cecelia came running into the kitchen, waving her homework around in the air. Corey was right on her heels, frowning, arms crossed. "Miles, can you help me with my homework? Jane's picking me up for gymnastics soon."

"Help me _first,_" Corey groaned, exasperated. As the other middle child, he seemed to be going through a phase where he felt neglected. He threw his hands up in the air. "You always help Cecelia first."

All of this happened before Miles could even finish the sandwich he was making for himself. He groaned, too, but he set the bread down. "Okay, hang on, I'll be there in a second," he muttered, and Sinead just laughed at him, snatching his half-made sandwich off his plate before he could protest. When he glared at her, she just grinned and shrugged.

"Your headache," she said and left, leaving him alone with Corey and a whining Cecelia.

It was just another typical day at the Byrne house.

* * *

**peyton smith (17)**

* * *

Some days, writing was easy for Peyton. All she had to do was lock herself in her room—not that anyone was going to come in, anyway, because she was usually home alone—and then she could bang out a couple of chapters of whatever story she happened to be working on that day while listening to Billie Eilish or Imagine Dragons. Other days were exactly the opposite. She would still lock herself in her room, of course, for fear that someone would try to read her writing, but the result at the end of a few hours would only be a quasi-blank page with almost nothing on it. Her head tended to hurt on those sort of days; it was exhausting enough to try to think of ideas, but it was even more frustrating when none of her thoughts seemed to translate correctly on her screen or when everything just came out entirely _wrong._

Today was one of those days. The document on Peyton's laptop screen blinked back at her, blank and white as a sheet, as if trying to mock her. With a sigh, Peyton turned it off and rolled onto her back, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars she'd stuck up on her ceiling, back when she was thirteen years old. They still glowed sometimes, but they were really starting to lose their light. It's been years, after all—back then, she was still being homeschooled, but she was pretty much the same. Peyton liked to pride herself on the fact that over the course of her teenagehood, she hadn't changed, not a single bit. It was one of the things she liked about herself.

Picking up her phone, she opened Tumblr and drafted a quick message to Ellie. _I hate writing with a burning passion._ Peyton could not count the number of times that she had sent Ellie this same sentence, perhaps in the same words, perhaps in different ones, but they conveyed her message all the same. She pressed _send,_ and then, realizing how dumb that sounded, quickly backtracked. _Writer's block is a pain in the ass._

The response was instantaneous, as it usually was: _I know exactly how it feels. Which story are you working on? _Ellie always seemed to be awake. For all Peyton knew, she could be from all the way across the globe, somewhere where the time zone didn't match up with hers, but either way, she was always there to chat.

_You know, _the _story. The fantasy dystopian one that sounds so bad I want to cry._

_If you let me read it, I could be the judge of that,_ Ellie wrote back with lightning speed, tagging on a laugh-crying emoji at the end.

_No way,_ Peyton typed, but she was smiling. She had been working on the same novel for about two years now, but she had sworn in her journal once that she would never, _ever_ let anybody read it, not until it was ready, which would likely be a lifetime from now. Since then, she had kept it relatively under wraps from the world, besides Ellie. Occasionally she would ask for her opinion on an idea or for advice on what to do next, but so far no one had read her untitled work, and she intended to keep it that way for a very, very long time.

Ellie answered quickly. _Whatever, Beatrice,_ the message said, with a faux-sad face at the end. To anyone Peyton chatted with on the internet, her name was always Beatrice, named after one of her favorite book characters of all time. Ellie's name was probably just a facade, too, but she liked to think they knew each other inside and out otherwise, which they did. Ellie often ranted to her about school and the people in it in long, lengthy paragraphs, and in turn, Peyton vented about her writing problems. Maybe one day if her fantasy novel got published, she would publish it under the name _Beatrice._ Nothing else, just Beatrice, and people would know her work as a masterpiece Beatrice wrote. Maybe that would all happen, one day in the far future—if she could actually finish this chapter, that was.

There was a quick knock on Peyton's door, and she shut off her phone hastily, tossing it to the other side of the bed. "Come in," she called, unsure why her heart was pounding so fast. It was going to be her mom, she already knew—Amy worked most of the time, but she always came home at six o'clock without fail. Just as she expected, Amy opened the door with a smile, still wearing her nursing uniform, short hair tied up in a messy bun. A lot of people tended to say that the two of them looked alike, but Peyton begged to differ, as she once did in a wordy Tumblr post—where Amy's hair was a chestnut brown, Peyton's was blonde, dyed a purple ombré at the top, a mistake she had made a year ago that actually turned out looking alright. Still, she had to admit, she had her mom's freckles and her eyes.

"How was your day, honey?" Amy asked, leaning over to kiss the top of Peyton's head. Peyton wrinkled her nose and feigned disgust, but they both knew she didn't really mind. Of course, if she _did_ mind, she would never have the guts to be anything but polite to an adult, anyway. "Good, I hope?"

Peyton smiled slightly and shrugged. "Nothing much happened."

"I'll have dinner cooking in a bit. Anything you want to request?"

Peyton shrugged again.

"Well, you can come downstairs with me. We can spend some time together."

Even if her mom was always busy with work, she was happy that she tried to set aside some time for them to bond, even if it was just a little bit. "Sounds great," Peyton answered, swinging her long legs over the side of her bed to get up. Her body ached from lying around all day, but it hadn't necessarily been worth it. She would try to write again after dinner, she promised herself. After all, her book wasn't going to write itself.

Dinner was Amy's speciality, a pasta that Peyton didn't know the name of but vowed to try and make it one day with half the amount of skill Amy had. "This tastes delicious," she announced, just as she always did when Amy made her special treat. Amy just grinned, shaking her head, but Peyton could tell she was pleased.

"I think I might've put in too much sauce this time," she said, just to refute her.

"Well, whatever you did, it tastes amazing." Peyton shoved her mouth full with another forkful, and Amy just laughed, finally accepting the accolade. "I think this is the best pasta I've ever had."

Maybe she was flattering her mom too much, but that was okay. Amy deserved it, and Peyton liked giving out compliments when she thought the people she cared about should hear them.

* * *

**A/N: Here are our first two students/tributes! What do you think of them? I hope I did Miles and Peyton justice.**

**Since there are no actual Districts in the story, I'll probably just write two tributes per introductory chapter, in whatever order they come to me first. It probably won't always be a boy-girl pair, in that case. Either way, you'll get introductory chapters for all of them and then get to hear more about them as they go on their field trip to Ananke.**

**Lots of spots still open, so please reserve and submit if you'd like! You can submit up to two tributes. I'm super excited to see what I'll get.**

**Song lyrics at the top are from "Apocalypse" by Cigarettes After Sex. I don't own any of the song lyrics that I will be posting, nor do I own the Hunger Games.**


	3. introductory chapter ii

_baby really hurt me, crying in the taxi_

_he don't wanna know me_

_says he made a big mistake of dancing in my storm_

_says it was poison_

* * *

**sankavi dhar (14)**

* * *

The early morning rush of her routinely jog before school never failed to wake Sankavi up. Perhaps it was something in the slap of the wind in her face, or maybe just the familiarity of it—nothing failed to get her blood pumping more than the feeling of accomplishing something, especially at five o'clock in the morning. The weather was particularly nice; recently, the sun seemed to be taking pity on Chicago after its long and dreary stretch of winter that all her classmates whined about. Secretly, she didn't really mind it either way. Rounding the corner to her street, Sankavi tilted her head up and listened to the rhythmic pounding of her running sneakers on the driveway as she sprinted the final stretch, letting herself into her house through the garage. Her mom was already up, like she was every morning around this time—she was making her signature _poha,_ or as Sankavi liked to think of it, one of the best things she'd tasted in her entire life. She was busy at the stove, but she still smiled gently and waved at her daughter when she heard her coming in.

"Good morning," Sankavi greeted, leaning over to give her mother a kiss on the cheek. The table still needed to be set, so she grabbed the spare plates and placemats off the counter and wordlessly began helping. Her young sister, Ashrika, was already seated, slinking down in her chair as if trying to blend into the furniture, another routinely thing that she did every morning, a sight that never failed to make Sankavi laugh. She handed the spare spoons over to Ashrika. "Come on, you have to help out, too."

Ashrika pouted. Right now she was in what she liked to call her "movie star phase," which was code for she wanted exactly to be like Audrey Hepburn or Grace Kelly when she grew up; nowadays, she was growing to be more dramatic than before, but Sankavi couldn't exactly get mad at her, not when her little frown was so adorable. "I don't want to," she whined, but she grabbed the spoons anyway, setting them down next to the plates without further argument. Sankavi exchanged a fleeting grin with her mother and laughed. Out of all the people in the world, her little sister was always going to be her favorite.

They all sat down at the table together, after her mom was done cooking. Sankavi sat next to Ashrika—"Eww, you smell all sweaty!"—and poured herself a glass of lemonade. "So, what's in store for everyone today?" she asked, not just to make conversation but because she genuinely wanted to know. Whenever Sankavi asked anyone a question, really, she tried to pay as much attention as she could to the answer, filing it away in the deep recesses of her mind in case she needed it again, analyzing it to find out as much she could about the person. She thought of it as one of her better traits. It was something that a lot of her classmates at school needed to do more often.

"Cleaning." Her mother laughed. She worked from home. "Ashrika?"

"My class is putting on a play today," Ashrika said proudly, puffing out her chest. She looked ridiculous, but it was funny. "I'm playing the lead role. We get to perform it for the younger grades."

Classic Ashrika. "Sounds great," Sankavi said, biting back a smile. "I wish I could go see it."

"What about you?"

Sankavi shrugged, playing with her spoon absentmindedly, contemplating her answer. To her, it was always best to think before you spoke, even if it was for the most simple of questions. "Well, I have two tests today, but I studied, so it should be fine. After school, I have book club, and then I'm going to go to track practice, since we're getting ready for that big meet tomorrow."

Ashrika's eyes were wide. "High school seems busy. I don't want to grow up."

She laughed modestly. "Don't say that. You just have to stay on top of things, that's all."

"Are you the smartest person in your grade?"

"She better be," a proud voice boomed from the staircase. Her father was standing at the foot of the stairs, buttoning up his collared shirt, and he looked exhausted from being on-call at the hospital all night, but he still strode into the kitchen purposefully, planting a quick kiss on his wife and kids' foreheads. "With all that studying and working she's doing all the time, I wouldn't be surprised if she's valedictorian in four years."

"_Dad,_" Sankavi said, cheeks flushing deep red from the compliments. Her parents were both very proud of her, and they never failed to let her know that. "That's so far away. I'm only a freshman."

"Never too early," her mom added with a gentle smile. She just wanted the best for both her daughters. "College is right around the corner."

Ashrika let out a little whimper, putting on her pouty face again. It was another one of the perks to her "movie star phase," letting her put on a free show for them every morning. "But then I'll be all alone."

"You have a lot of friends."

"But I'll miss Sankavi," she cried dramatically, reaching over to give her sister a tight hug. Sankavi rolled her eyes good-naturedly but let her stay there, clinging tight to her, as if she was already gone. She would willingly admit it to anyone who asked: she loved her little sister more than anything.

* * *

**melody void (17)**

* * *

"Goal!"

Panting, Melody ran back to the half line beside her teammates, who slapped her on the back encouragingly. "Nice one, Melody," Alissa called as she ran past her, offering a high five. Alissa's dark ponytail swung side-to-side as Melody watched her jog up ahead, some strands plastered to the back of her olive skin. She tried not to get distracted by the girl. This was Melody's third goal in her game today, and their team was going up against one of the best soccer teams in the state—the score was close, since they were only trailing by one goal. She could not afford to do anything else but have her head in the game. Winning this would ensure her team's ticket to the championships, happening later on in the month. They didn't work this hard to fall just short.

The whistle was blown. The girl on the other team tried to feint her out; Melody intercepted. She dribbled the ball down the field expertly, putting everything she learned over the years into good use—after all, when you have been playing soccer practically since you could walk, you learned how to run fast with the ball. Somewhere up ahead, one of her teammates was calling to her, maybe Alissa—the goal was just in sight. Without hesitating, Melody breathed in hard and then passed the ball up to her.

Another whistle, and then, the familiar voice of the referee: "Goal!"

Alissa jogged past her again, a big grin on her face. She wrapped one of her arms around Melody's shoulders quickly, just a fleeting, one-armed hug, but it was enough to set her heart on fire all the same. Melody felt as though her skin was burning. "That was a good assist," she said to Melody. Melody just shook her head modestly, trying to fight off the inevitable blush that threatened to rise to her cheeks. It was an exercise of self-control, something she had been familiar with trying to do for about three years now, whenever a cute, nice girl happened to be in her vicinity.

"Your goal," she said with a shrug, hoping her voice wasn't shaking. Alissa just grinned again and said something else, but Melody wasn't quite listening. She just looked away, balling her hands up into fists, watching as the referee brought the ball back to the start. She could not be thinking about things like that, not right now, probably not ever; she didn't know if that was her parents' voice in her head, or if it belonged to her strict Christian religion, or if it was her own.

Her team ended up winning the game. Ultimately, the score was 5-4, and as she made a beeline back to the sidelines after shaking hands, desperate for her water jug, Coach June smiled proudly at her, patting her on the back. "The college scouts were very impressed," was all she said before turning away, turning to congratulate Alissa and the other girls who had played well. Melody sat on the bleachers with her water, undoing her long chocolate hair from its braid, trying to still her pounding heart. The adrenaline from whenever she stepped foot on the soccer field happened to stick around for a long time—or any field, for that matter. Her friends used to say that she had sports in her veins. From the number of times she'd been in the local newspaper for her athletic accomplishments, perhaps they were right.

Uncle Reggie met her on the other side of the field with a gentle pat on the head, pulling her into his chest for a hug. "Good job today," he said in his signature raspy voice, roughed up from too much smoking and drinking when he was younger. He was so unlike her mother Janice, Melody had a hard time believing that he was Janice's older brother; for starters, he was much more likable. She gave her uncle a tight hug back, ignoring his good-natured grimace when he complained about how bad she smelled.

"It was hard work," she joked. He let her be.

They walked back to his truck together, her with her school backpack and soccer duffel, him with his hands in his pockets and a cigarette dangling from his lips. She left her cleats in the back, since he had been driving her to and from games since she was small, and they were both familiar with the routine. As he took her home, she opened the windows, letting her hair loose in the harsh wind that rushed past the car's windows, blocking out any other sound. Uncle Reggie had turned the radio on to some oldies stations, so Sublime was blaring through the pickup, a good soundtrack for how fast her heart was pumping right now, she thought. Melody let her mind go blank, throwing one of her hands out the car window, feeling the crisp breeze on her skin, at one with this moment in time. Her parents would hate to see her right now, especially with her "degenerate" uncle, but for now, she savored the moment, soaking it into her mind.

He parked around the corner from her house, since they had both agreed a long time ago not to risk any chance of Janice and her dad Henry seeing Melody with the rebellious Uncle Reggie. "Thank you, Uncle," she muttered as he shut off the radio, leaving the rest of the world in relative silence. He just shook his head—he hated goodbyes, always had—and unlocked the car doors for her, a kind gesture in his own Reggie way.

"You call me if you need anything, okay?" He was a good uncle, probably with better parenting skills than both of her biological parents combined, even if he didn't have any kids or even a wife, even if he still smoked every day and tended to buy liquor at the little shop downtown more often than not. At least he never forced her to be someone she wasn't. He knew enough about the struggles of being individual to yourself when everyone else around you didn't understand. "If you want me to pick you up or whatever." Reggie wasn't incredible with words, but Melody still got the gist: he cared.

She smiled, a little melancholy. It didn't quite reach her eyes. "Okay," she said, and she wanted to say something else, but she couldn't think of what else she could add. The cool evening air on her skin was chilly as she grabbed her things from the back of the truck, and then Melody made her way down the sidewalk as slowly as she could, back to the household she couldn't help but want to leave.

* * *

**A/N: I had a good time writing both Sankavi and Melody! What do you guys think?**

**There are still spots open, particularly male spots. I'd love more submissions!**

**The song lyrics at the top are from "Liability" by Lorde. It's a great song.**


	4. introductory chapter iii

_if he's a serial killer, then what's the worst_

_that could happen to a girl _

_who's already hurt?_

_i'm already hurt_

* * *

**eloise "ellie" walters (16)**

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Ellie wanted to punch something. Not that she actually would, because that might ruin her manicure, and she'd just gone to the nail salon _yesterday. _"Who was that girl you were talking to earlier?" she asked Matt as they walked down the hallway after school, holding hands, swinging them back and forth in between them. Matt was a football player, and, her opinion, any high school relationship with a football player always made for a good popularity boost. Of course, he was much taller than her—he was six feet, and she barely cleared five—but a lot of guys liked when they were taller than their girlfriends, and with her, they never had to worry about that problem. She considered herself very unproblematic in that sense.

"Oh, _that_ girl?" Matt tipped his head to the right as they walked past a stairway. Standing at the top landing was a freshman girl, maybe a little shorter than Ellie, and she was holding a stack of textbooks all clutched to her chest. Ellie almost snorted when she saw her. The girl wasn't even _that _pretty— maybe average, she'd give her that; with chestnut brown hair and alarmingly pale skin, she had a mousy way about her. Hadn't she ever heard of foundation? Her face might have looked a little more even, if she even knew how to put on makeup. She had potential, really, but Ellie hated her guts. And when Ellie hated someone, their potential disappeared instantly.

"Yeah, that's her." They had stopped walking so that now they were watching the girl coldly, leaning against the wall. The girl hadn't noticed them yet. She should feel lucky, Ellie thought to herself. "What were you and her talking about?"

Matt shrugged. "Oh, she's in one of my classes," he said. "Apparently she wasn't here yesterday. She wanted to know what she missed."

Ellie snorted again. She flicked her hair over one shoulder. "Well, you know, Matt, that's a lie." The girl was still talking to a friend at the top of the staircase, but she finally shifted enough to see Ellie and Matt staring; when she noticed, her eyes went wide, like a deer caught in headlights. Instantly, she whirled around and started heading briskly down the stairs, ponytail swinging behind her like a nervous pendulum. Ellie resisted the urge to yank it and drag her down the rest of the way by her hair. "Come on, we're going to teach her a lesson."

"For what?" Matt asked as Ellie doubled back, pulling him along as she set down the stairs after this unnamed girl, high heels clicking loudly with every step. All their classmates knew that when her high heels clicked like that, it meant business; either some poor girl was going to get beaten up, or Matt was going to beat up someone simply because some other guy talked to her, and she wanted to "teach them a lesson." Needless to say, Ellie felt the adrenaline rush as the two of them flew down the stairs, catching stares from all the people they passed. She fed off any attention, good or bad, not that attention was really ever bad, when it concerned her.

"Are you kidding me? For talking to you, of course!" Matt could be so daft sometimes. Thank God he was at her beck and call.

They caught up with the mousy girl at the bottom of the stairs. Ellie finally let go of Matt's hand and whipped the girl around by the shoulder until she was facing them. Two of her textbooks clattered to the ground. "What's your name, girl?" she sneered, gesturing for Matt to kick away the fallen textbooks. They skid across the tiled floor noiselessly. The girl just stood there, wide-eyed, rooted to the spot. "Hey, I'm asking you a question!"

"Hannah," the girl practically whispered.

"Alright, then, _Hannah_, listen up, because I'm only going to warn you once." Ellie tilted her head as she glared at Hannah, making her flinch. She knew her icy blue eyes were boring into this girl's soul. "This is my boyfriend, Matt. Do you know how long we've been together?"

The girl shook her head furiously, like a puppet dancing on cue.

"We've been together for two years. He's a senior. He plays football. Do you know what football is?"

Hannah's cheeks were flushed bright red.

"I don't know if you were absent. I don't care who you are. No girl talks to my boyfriend unless it's me. That's a rule around here, you know that? You must be new."

Her long nails were starting to dig into Hannah's shoulder. Hannah squirmed again, trying to get away. Ellie was leaning in so close, her blonde curls were tickling the girl's cheek. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. Hannah still wasn't looking her in the eye. Her head was down, and that probably meant she was fighting back tears. Ellie had seen the same look on a lot of girls before.

"You better be sorry—Hannah, was it?"

Ellie knew her name. Of course she knew her name—she knew the names of everyone in this school, their real names and their nicknames, whatever people called them behind their backs. But feigning indifference towards anyone always worked like a charm, and Hannah finally went running off to grab her fallen textbooks when Ellie released her shoulder, sprinting down the hallway with tears evident in her eyes. Ellie checked her nails to make sure the girl didn't ruin them. She didn't, thank God. Otherwise they'd be having a whole new problem on their hands.

"You ready for me to drive you home, babe?" Matt asked, slinging his arm around her. The crowd in the stairway was starting to disperse—this sort of thing happened with Ellie every day.

"Ready," she answered, a steely look in her eyes. If she ever saw Hannah in the halls again, that mousy girl was going to have some serious hell to pay.

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**aylin barrett (14)**

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Hospital rooms were painstakingly white. Who ever thought it was a good idea to make everything so bright in here? It wasn't the lightning, necessarily, although the fluorescent lights practically blinded Aylin every time she looked up—no, it had to be the paint itself. As of a few months ago, she didn't even know that they made paint so white.

Machines were beeping loudly, a constant metronome, which had started to drive her crazy about five minutes ago. It reminded her of that old torture method, the one where water dripped from the ceiling and you were tied up underneath, and you eventually went insane from such a thing, the water always dipping in the same spot, the _plunk_ of its fall, the wetness on your skin; it was more of a mental game than a physical one. These days, Aylin felt a lot like she was trapped underneath an ever-dripping faucet, or a rainstorm that only fell for her—she was sick of these hospital visits. She was sick of how people could get sick out of the blue, out of nowhere, without the slightest bit of warning except for a lump growing on the side of someone's body.

Aylin waited by the door as her father Scott said goodbye to the doctors and her mom, furiously wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. She wasn't going to cry at the hospital—she promised herself from the first time that she wouldn't. She _wouldn't._

"You aren't going to say goodbye?" Scott asked her gently as he met her by the door, pulling it shut behind him. The way he closed the door told her that he already knew the answer to that. Silently, they walked down the hallway to the cafeteria together, Aylin's combat boots clicking on the floor, the loudest thing in the entire hospital. It was like how things always seemed to be louder at night than in the morning, when you were staying up much later than your parents would've liked. Every little noise seemed about ten times louder in the hospital.

They sat together in the cafeteria, close to a window seat. It was pouring outside, and the sky was a dull shade of gray, a color that matched her mood right now. Rain wasn't supposed to be in the forecast. Aylin checked her phone and fiddled with her thumbs as her father bought sandwiches for them—it was those frozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, the only thing the hospital ever seemed to serve, but at least it was something. She had a couple texts from Liz and Cody, but she didn't want to check them now. They wouldn't be texting too much, anyway, because they were at rehearsal, trying to put together a show that seemed like it would not be ready for its opening night. After all, if its cast members were always on their phones during rehearsal, it would never get off the ground.

Scott came back with their lunch. "What's wrong?" he murmured, passing her sandwich across the table. Aylin just shook her head. "Come on, I'm your dad. You can tell me anything."

"Nothing's wrong," Aylin said firmly, in a way she considered very convincing. She was on the debate team at school, and knew how to be persuasive. However, Scott didn't buy it; he just looked at her, a deep frown making creases on his face. It was his thinking face. "I'm serious, Dad. Everything's fine."

"Look, honey, the doctors said—"

"Doctors are always saying the same thing," she said. Inexplicably, Aylin felt good that there was something to argue about. Arguments were _her _turf. She always won those. "They said the chemo would get her better. They said that _months _ago. Everything's been the same since then, you know? Mom's still sick. Doctors don't know anything."

Scott fell silent instantly, looking down at his sandwich. Looking at his face, Aylin felt some of the adrenaline high she was riding start to wear off, and instead, she just felt guilty. Of course, trying to pick a fight with your father in a hospital cafeteria just because the familiarity of a debate comforted you was not a good idea, not when her mother was down the hall in a private room, with nurses and doctors prodding at her. Naturally, she had let her mouth run away with her again.

The next few minutes passed in silence. She checked her phone, for lack of anything better to do. She drummed her fingers on the table. _No new messages._ "Sorry," Aylin muttered, after she couldn't bear to take the guilty silence any longer. Scott just looked pained. Naturally, apologies were not going to fix problems easily when a problem has been deep-rooted for awhile, when it had already made its mark. Breast cancer was one of those problems. It could not just be solved with a simple _sorry._

"Aylin," Scott murmured softly. His eyes looked dim, even in the hospital lighting—he was tired, just as she was. "I understand this is hard for you. This is hard for me, too. It isn't easy for anyone in this situation."

Tears stung at her eyes, and she couldn't help but turn away, trying to disguise them.

"That's why we need each other right now, you know? We need each other." He sounded a little choked up, too; wordlessly, Aylin reached across the table and grabbed his hand. Her hand fit perfectly in his, just like it always had when she was a little girl. "We have to take it one step at a time. Especially right now."

"I'm sorry," she whispered again. This time it sounded vulnerable, not defensive.

"Don't be," Scott whispered back, "I get it." Together they sat in the cafeteria, just a couple rooms away from her mother, watching the rain beat down on the windows, and their fingers were intertwined. For now, that seemed to be enough—one step at a time.

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**A/N: Ellie and Aylin are two very different characters, but I had fun writing both of them. What do you think of them?**

**Submissions are still open! There are only a couple spots left now. Don't forget to submit in a tribute if you've reserved a spot. Hopefully, I'll get the next chapter out sooner than this one.**

**The song lyrics this time were from "happiness is a butterfly" by Lana del Rey. It's one of my favorite songs right now.**


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